


A Plethora of Kisses

by PFL (msmoat)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 12:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/pseuds/PFL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>6 episodes, 7 kisses, all written from prompts. Each one is its own universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Man Without a Past Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Merentha13's prompt: "Man Without A Past", when Bodie finds Doyle in the kitchen between the "Dumb crud" and "You look terrible" dialog.

Bodie heard the shouting as he got through the door at Crabbe’s place. His heart soared, giving him an extra burst of adrenaline as he rammed one villain into the stairs, then jabbed the other in the gut, before he turned and beat him down. The first man came back for more, but Bodie kicked him, then finished him off with a punch. He could smell the pepper; he knew where Doyle was. He moved towards the kitchen doorway, and for just a moment doubt seized him: Doyle hadn’t appeared. He braced his arm against the door jamb, looked— And Doyle was there, leaning against the wall. Hurt. _Alive_. Relief took Bodie’s voice and breath. He nodded.

Doyle was breathing as heavily as Bodie. “You dumb crud,” he breathed out, eyes flicking away, then back to Bodie. “What took you so long?”

 _Trust Doyle_. Abso-bloody-fucking— Tough bastard. No one could break Doyle. No one. And Bodie couldn’t stop himself; he couldn’t control the wild impulse fueled by relief. He leaned forward, placed his mouth against Doyle’s, shared his breath. Bodie knew he was revealing it all—all his fears, all his desperation after he’d heard the replay of Doyle’s phone call to HQ. All his joy. The kiss didn’t last long; he could feel Doyle shaking. Bodie pulled back, and a different fear rushed through him. What would—? But he wouldn’t regret it. He wouldn’t. Dammit. And again he braced himself, looked—

Doyle smiled. It was a mere twitch of his lips, but it freed Bodie. Jubilation replaced the fear. “You look terrible.” His eyes scanned Doyle, and he knew he wasn’t fooling Doyle one iota.

Doyle, still breathing heavily, gestured with his hand. “Crabbe and Forrest, they're down in the car park. Well, go on! I can't. I'm going to call meself an ambulance.”

Bodie grinned. No one could break Doyle. No one. Not even him. He turned and went after Crabbe and Forest. Maybe there would be a reckoning to pay. But they were alive, and together. He’d finish the op, then follow Doyle to hospital. Maybe he’d bring flowers. Maybe.

END


	2. Backtrack Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Draycevixen's prompt: "Backtrack", sometime after Doyle says "thanks".

“Freeze!”

Doyle heard Bodie’s shout, but his shocked brain didn’t process it fully until after the shot, as he watched the sniper fall to Bodie’s bullet. He breathed out, eyes closing. He was alive. Ah, Christ. He leaned back against the hard metal of the tank, eyes still closed. He slid down to his haunches.

Bodie arrived next to him. “You okay? You get a stoppage?”

Doyle nodded, but he kept his eyes closed. The sun shone full on him, he could see light beyond his eyelids. He should have been dead. Would have been, but for Bodie.

“It’s always happening with these weapons.” Bodie was fretting. “They’re supposed to be reliable—“

“Hey.” Doyle interrupted the flow of words. He opened his eyes, turned his head, and found Bodie looking at him with worried eyes. No. There was more than worry was in the blue eyes that met his. Doyle felt something inside him shift and settle into place. A sudden smile tugged at his mouth. “Thanks.”

He saw Bodie grin, and then Bodie turned away quickly. Doyle looked down, but his own smile lingered. It wasn’t just nerves that Bodie had settled for him with that look. Oh, no. He put his handgun away while Bodie moved to the dead sniper and picked up the rifle.

“That’s a nice piece of hardware.” Doyle pushed himself to his feet and walked to the sniper’s body. He let Bodie’s words wash over him as he examined the body. “Looks purpose-built, to me. Take a few weekly installments to buy this one.” Bodie might have been reporting to Cowley. Back to business, was it? Typical Bodie—as if Doyle hadn’t seen— But what had he seen? He kept his eyes on his task, searching the body.

“What’ve you got?” Bodie asked.

He could play along as if nothing had happened. “Looks Middle-Eastern. Labels torn off. No documents; usual story.” It was probably best to play along. What else could they do? His stomach was tight—damn nerves.

Cowley shouted at them from the ground below: “Well?”

They both climbed to their feet and went to the railing to peer down at Cowley. “Nothing,” Doyle said. “And he's dead.”

Cowley nodded. “Oh, great.” Cowley turned away, his body language in complete accord with the sarcasm in his voice.

“Ah,” said Bodie, “I should have let him kill you.”

Doyle looked at him, but Bodie was looking down at the fuming Cowley. “Missed opportunities, mate.” He kept his voice light and shook his head in mock reproach. He headed for the ladder he had climbed to this section of the roof.

He heard Bodie follow him, but there was only silence until Doyle reached the top of the ladder. “Doyle.”

Doyle turned. Bodie stood there, looking at him, and it wasn’t business as usual. Doyle lifted his chin. “You know, sometimes, opportunity knocks twice.”

“Thank Christ, for that.” Bodie stepped forward, and Doyle met him with a kiss. It was hard and rushed, but they’d have another opportunity for it. He had only to look into Bodie’s eyes to know that. The world shifted and settled into place. Doyle turned back to the top of the ladder, and this time his smile was wide. Behind him, he knew Bodie was smiling as well.

END


	3. Mixed Doubles Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for hagsrus' prompt: Macklin/Towser in "Mixed Doubles"

Macklin was standing still, arms crossed, watching Bodie and Doyle sleep. He’d give them a few more minutes—maybe fifteen—and then he’d wake them again. One more go round with Towser and— He turned his head as Towser appeared in his peripheral vision.

Towser nodded at him then moved quickly to Macklin’s side. They stood together and regarded the sleeping men.

“One more—“ Macklin started to say, but stopped when Towser shook his head. Macklin pressed his lips together. “No one will take it easy on them out there.”

Towser smiled, eyebrows raised.

“I saw you ease up on them.”

Towser looked at Bodie and Doyle, then back at Macklin.

“Yes, all right. Point taken. But they need to be at the top of their form. You know they do.” Macklin felt the tension within his own body: old wounds, old memories. He didn’t jump when Towser put a hand on his forearm and gripped him, but he didn’t relax, either. “They have to be broken before we can put them back together. Hone them.” He swallowed and softly added: “I don’t want them to die.”

Towser’s fingers tightened on his arm.

Macklin looked into Towser’s face. “They have to be better than I was. Don’t give me that,” he added as Towser smiled. “They have—“ He broke off when Towser moved closer.

Towser gripped Macklin’s arm with one hand, and with the other stroked up and down Macklin’s back in a quick caress of comfort. Macklin froze. As intimate as they had been with one another, this gesture shook him to the core. He stared at Towser. Towser’s eyes flickered to Bodie and Doyle and then back to him.

Macklin blinked. “It won’t save them.” His own voice sounded odd. He had found out what Bodie and Doyle meant to each other; he still didn’t know if they knew. But was that an advantage of a liability?

Towser held his gaze; he didn’t back down.

It felt as if he had a weight against his chest. They would protect each other against all comers. They would fight to the death for each other. They were already stronger together than he had ever been. “And if one of them dies?” He knew he’d lost the battle, but he might still win the war.

Towser shrugged. His expression told Macklin what he thought of the relevance of that argument.

Macklin sighed, closed his eyes. And then, feather-soft, he felt Towser’s lips on his. If he had had Towser in Hong Kong…. Christ, they could have taken on anyone. Together.

Towser broke the kiss, and Macklin opened his eyes.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll start the building process.” He’d put them back together, stronger than before. Together.

The expression on Towser’s face turned smug.

“Shut up and get those eggs poisoned,” Macklin said. He pushed a silently laughing Towser towards the kitchen area. He let his hand linger on Towser’s strong back. If only he had known.

END


	4. Stopover Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for robeau's prompt: B/D after the baddies trash the safehouse and kill Meredith

There was a red car blocking the drive at the safehouse. Adrenaline surged through Doyle as he drove onto the grass next to the drive. Gunfire erupted from the house and bullets sprayed the car. Doyle got out, used the car as cover and popped up behind the boot to fire back. The gunfire was coming from an upstairs floor. Bloody hell. _Bodie_.

He had to get closer. Doyle raced to the dubious protection of the garden trees and shrubbery. He heard gunfire inside the house; he thought he detected the sound of Bodie’s gun. He saw a man outside the house, at the far corner. Doyle stepped forward, then ducked as the driver of the red car opened fire. Another man in a white suit emerged from the house, firing his automatic. Doyle shot him, but the other man reached the car and it started backing out the driveway.

Suddenly, there was gunfire again from the house. Doyle looked round to see Bodie—thank Christ!—planting himself and firing at the retreating red car. It was to no avail, and the men in the car escaped. Doyle ran to the house, following Bodie.

“Meredith! Bodie took the stairs two at a time, with Doyle right behind. They entered a bedroom, and Doyle knew immediately from Bodie’s body language what he would find.

Meredith lay on the floor beside the bed, a large hole in his chest. “Oh,” Doyle said, and sank back on top of a small chest of drawers.

“How the hell did they know he was here?” Bodie’s voice was heavy with defeat.

Doyle shook his head. “Someone, somewhere was waiting for a call from him.” He flashed on the two phone lines he’d found in the Maddock Street house. Could it be?

Bodie turned away from the body. “I think I prefer Buzby.” He walked out of the room.

Doyle took a last look at Meredith’s body, and followed him. “‘Make someone happy with a phone call’, eh?”

“I’m not bloody happy.” Bodie walked down the stairs. “Can’t say Meredith is, either.”

“He was unhappy from the start. How the hell did they find this place?”

“Dunno.” Bodie turned as he reached the bottom of the stairs, looked back up at Doyle. “We _weren’t_ followed.”

Doyle stopped on the bottom step. “I know.”

“Then how?”

Doyle glanced up the stairs. “There was a phone in that room.”

Bodie raised his eyebrows. “You must be joking—you think Meredith called them? They killed him, mate.”

“So he’s a bloody poor judge of character.”

Bodie sighed. “Yeah, well, _that_ wouldn’t surprise me.” He looked back at Doyle. “We weren’t followed.”

“No.”

“We’d better get back to Cowley.” Bodie turned away.

“Ehm…”

Bodie turned back. “What?”

“Car’s dead. We’re going to have to phone it in.”

“So much for making anyone happy. Bloody hell.” Bodie looked weary and angry. Neither of them dealt well with failure.

Doyle touched him on the shoulder. “Tell you one thing that made me happy.”

Bodie looked at him.

Doyle stepped off the stairs. “Hearing your Magnum.” He slipped his hand around Bodie’s neck, pulled him close.

“Better than a phone call?”

Doyle kissed him, let the touch express the fear and desperation he’d felt. Bodie was there for him as always, steadying him. He wanted nothing more than to carry this further, lose himself in Bodie’s arms. Reluctantly, Doyle broke the kiss. “You tell me.”

“I like the personal touch myself.” Bodie’s lips were slightly swollen, and they drew Doyle’s gaze.

“Whose turn is it—?”

Bodie grinned. “Mine.”

“Ah.” Doyle took in a breath, then tucked his hands into the pocket of his shirt. “Good. Then you can be the one to tell Cowley.” He headed for the lounge.

“What? But—“

“Turn and turn about.” Doyle found the telephone and reached for it. “That’s our deal.”

“That’ll make you happy, will it?” Bodie sidled up to Doyle as he dialed the number for HQ.

“Behave yourself. And yes, it will.”

Bodie slipped an arm around Doyle’s waist, and leaned close. “And then you’ll make me happy. Won’t you.” Bodie’s whisper in Doyle’s ear was followed by Bodie’s tongue. Doyle gasped just as his call was picked up at HQ.

As Bodie’s silent laughter shook them both, Doyle reported their situation, and started plotting his revenge. _Sweet_ revenge, worthy of Cowley's best two men.

END


	5. The Female Factor Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for mspinto64's prompt: "Of course, I'm pretty sure they would've shared a kiss at the end of 'The Female Factor', when they visit Ann Seaford's grave."

Bodie watched as Doyle placed the flowers on Ann Seaford’s grave. She had been thirty-two years old when she died.

 _Three years are like thirty in that trade._

Cowley’s voice echoed in his head. Doyle turned from the grave and met Bodie’s eyes briefly.

 _Hookers are women, you know. They can be nice._

Doyle had been angry with him when he’d said that. Maybe Doyle had been right about Ann Seaford; maybe she had deserved the loyalty Doyle had shown her. It had turned out well for CI5 certainly, if not for Sir Charles Milvern. Yet Bodie remembered Cowley’s initial anger when they’d gone to Ann Seaford’s house. Doyle’s loyalty might have cost them dearly. He still felt a stirring of anger at the thought. Yet he’d brought Doyle to the cemetery on the first day Doyle was allowed out on his crutches. He’d wanted Doyle to see the headstone CI5 had paid for.

Doyle was silent as they made their way slowly towards the car. Bodie sought for a way to lighten the mood. “Be a big plus with the girls, that, you know. The sticks.”

Doyle turned his head to look at him, then returned his attention to the crutches.

“Yeah, you can fabricate a bit, invent some story. Say you got it ski jumping or something. Or we could pretend you got it doing something really dangerous.”

“Like a shootout in a car park.”

Bodie wrinkled his nose. “Could do, but that might be pushing the believability factor.”

Doyle stopped walking and looked at Bodie. “Would it.”

“Yeah.”

“For these hypothetical girls of yours.”

“I could make a phone call, make it less hypothetical.”

“Another foursome?” Doyle raised his eyebrows.

Bodie kept his face expressionless, but his stomach tightened. “Went well enough the other night, didn’t it? Of course, not necessarily _those_ girls.”

One side of Doyle’s mouth curved up. “I thought you said you’d take care of it.”

“I said ‘leave it to me.’ I didn’t say they’d be happy about it.”

“Ah, well.” Doyle resumed his slow progress towards the car. Backgammon isn’t really my game, anyway.”

“Oh, yes?” Bodie tucked his hands behind him. “What is your game, then?”

Doyle gave Bodie a sidelong look. “I’ll tell you one day.”

Bodie felt his cock stir, but he ignored it with the ease of practice. “Promises, promises.”

“Anyway, it wouldn’t exactly be true about doing something dangerous in the car park, would it?”

“Eh?”

Doyle shrugged. “You were there. I was safe as houses, wasn’t I?”

“I wasn’t there when you were shot.” He knew his voice was flat. He couldn’t retain the light tone.

Doyle nodded, as if to himself, and then he stopped walking again. His face was serious when he faced Bodie, but there was something close to amusement in his eyes. Amusement or— “Don’t really want the girls.”

The wild recklessness before battle. He’d seen it often enough in Doyle’s eyes when they’d gambled with their lives. It would be easy to deflect the offer, no harm done. Easy. Safe. Bodie took a step towards Doyle. “I prefer two over four, myself.”

Doyle didn’t back away. He tilted his head. “I said I’d tell you. One day.”

Bodie shook his head. “It’s no game.” It would be a risk to their jobs, their lives, perhaps more.

Doyle’s gaze was steady. “No, it isn’t.” And yet there was still that mad spirit in him that Bodie understood very well. Ann Seaford had been thirty-two when she died. And Bodie suddenly realised that it hadn’t been anger he’d felt when Doyle had been so ready to risk everything for Ann. No, no anger. He’d wanted that loyalty for himself. He hadn’t realised he already had it.

They were alone on the path and in this part of the cemetery. Bodie put his hands round Doyle’s neck, his thumbs nudging Doyle’s jawline. They kissed, and he tasted Doyle, touched the fierceness that lived inside him, met it with his own.

The kiss was brief, both of them too aware of the openness around them. They pulled back, resumed their walk towards the car, silent but attuned—as if they had been in a firefight.

END


	6. The Rack Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for hagsrus' prompt: B/D in "The Rack" at the end of the lovely scene in D's flat. And for norfolkdumpling's prompt: B/D. "The Rack". After Bodie gets back from his drinks with Cowley at the end.

**The Rack Kiss 1**

Doyle heard Bodie let himself into the flat, but he didn’t look up from his book or stir from where he lay on the sofa. What did it matter that Bodie had come? What did any of it matter?

“Ray?”

Fuck it. He didn’t remember anything from the last few paragraphs he’d read. Resolutely, he started over again. He ignored Bodie.

“Are you all right?” Bodie sat down on the coffee table.

“Um, yeah.” He made it sound like it had been a silly question to ask, and he kept his attention on the book. Bodie, of course, ploughed right on.

“I thought you'd be off by now. Eh? Organic food in the belly, working out.” Bodie’s tone was light.

“What for?

That stopped Bodie. “Huh?”

“What for, I said. Working out. What for? So I can rupture somebody else's spleen?” He finally looked at Bodie, then away. There was nothing Bodie could say, was there?

“That was an accident.

“Yeah, that's right, he ran right onto my fist.” He gazed at the book in his hands, but he remembered Paul Coogan, slumped against the wall.

“Now look, Ray, I was there, right? He came at you, you turned and belted him. I mean, it could have happened anywhere. A pub brawl, anywhere. It could've happened to anyone.”

“Well, it didn't happen to anyone, did it? It happened to _me_.” And the worst of it was, he didn’t feel sick to his stomach. He should. Oh, Christ, he should.

“You only hit him once.”

He nearly laughed. “Oh, I see. Oh, that's all right, then. You mean, if I'd hit him twice, I could have killed him twice.” He’d killed Coogan in custody—like a corrupt copper, a bully. He pushed himself up from his sprawl, intent on Bodie. “You know what they made of me, don't you? Do you know what they've made of us? Eh? Well, it frightens me to death, Bodie.”

Bodie couldn’t hold his gaze. “Yeah, well,” he stood and walked to the window, “I’ve only come to tell you that Cowley's got a job for us.”

What had he expected, after all? Bodie didn’t go in for introspection. Or guilt. Doyle settled back on the sofa. “Not me, mate. I'm suspended, remember?”

“Yeah, me, too.” Doyle turned his head to look at Bodie. “Material witness now, you know.” Doyle looked away. “I saw you beat that innocent young man to death.”

Anger flared in Doyle. “Don’t make jokes, Bodie. I'm telling you, don't make jokes.” It was easy for Bodie to shrug it off, oh yes.

“Yeah, well, it's the only way I can get through, isn't it?” Bodie stalked back to stand over Doyle. “Now, come on, Ray. The Old Man needs us. Look, he's fighting for his life out there. I've never seen him like this. We owe him one.”

Doyle laughed, although he felt no humour. “Listen to him: ‘we’. What happened to the ‘Look after the Number One’ credo, then?” Immoral mercenary; kill who you’re paid to kill; nothing personal in it.

“Yeah, well, don't do as I say, do as I do.” There was real emotion in Bodie’s voice.

“Yeah.” Doyle nodded, looked away. The anger was still hot within him.

“Okay, well, I'll leave you to wallow in your own self pity. I'll handle it myself!” Bodie turned and walked towards the door.

Doyle raised his voice. “Since when did you ever handle anything on your own?”

Bodie turned back, pointed at him. “Yeah, well, since when did you?”

Doyle held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. He threw his book across to the other sofa, and sat up, feet on the floor, elbows on his knees. Bodie returned to the coffee table, and sat knee-to-knee with Doyle. They looked at each other, and then Bodie smiled. Doyle felt something ease inside him, just a bit. He wasn’t alone in this; he never had been. Maybe Bodie didn’t understand, but he wouldn’t desert him. “So, why us, if we're both suspended?”

“Because Parker's my pigeon.” Bodie held his gaze. “Our pigeon. And he's dropped out of sight.”

“Well, wouldn't you with a Coogan on the loose?”

“Yeah, well, he's the man who started this rolling. Cowley wants to speak to him.”

Doyle looked towards the window, not really seeing it. Coogan was guilty, any way you looked at it. Doyle’s loss of control didn’t alter that. _Our pigeon_ , Bodie had said. Parker was their responsibility. He looked back at Bodie and saw the rock solid loyalty he and Cowley both depended upon. “Okay.” He stood up.

For a moment, Bodie sat still. An expression flitted across his face that Doyle didn’t understand. Was it relief?

“You’re quite a persuasive talker when you want to be, aren’t you?” He said it to lighten the mood, to remind them of recent success of the Biebermann kidnapping, when he’d said it before.

Bodie drew in his breath as he stood. “Yeah, well. You do what you have to, right?” But his eyes flickered away from Doyle’s.

Doyle stilled. Do whatever it takes to get the job done. That, too, was a credo of Bodie’s. Optimum efficiency. And who better understood what motivated Doyle? “Story of our life, mate.” He turned away. He couldn’t blame Bodie for manipulating him. Cowley needed them. He could see that. The job. Always the bloody—

“Ray.”

Bodie’s hand on his arm stopped him, but Doyle didn’t turn round. His throat was tight. Stupid.

Bodie tugged at him, put a hand on each of Doyle’s shoulders. His eyes were intent. “I won’t let them crucify you.” HIs hands tightened. “Do you understand?”

He stared at Bodie. His stomach tightened like a fist. “Bodie…”

“Don’t say anything.” Bodie’s voice was hard. “Just know.”

Christ. The job was the excuse, not the reason. Doyle felt his eyes widen. He opened his mouth, and suddenly Bodie’s mouth was on his, lips moving against his. Shock streaked through him, but there was desire there as well, and astonishment. _It wasn’t Cowley’s need_ , he thought, _it was Bodie’s_.

Just as abruptly as it started, the kiss ended. Bodie released him so quickly, Doyle nearly staggered. He looked at Bodie, whose mouth was now thinned with pressure. Bodie’s eyes were on the floor. He was poised for flight, yet he stood still. He didn’t budge.

Doyle breathed in and out. He bit his lip. He couldn’t make sense of his own emotions; he had no idea about Bodie’s. But it wasn’t the time to deal with this—that much he knew. He had to clear his throat to speak. “Any ideas where Parker might run?”

“A few.” Bodie finally looked at him. His eyes were wary, but the relief was plain on his face.

Doyle shelved all the conflicted feelings inside him. He touched Bodie lightly on the arm as he moved past him. “We’d best get on it then, eh?”

“Yeah.”

They’d deal with it later. If they had a later.

END

 

 **The Rack Kiss 2**

 _I suppose he'll get over it soon._

 _No, never. But he'll learn to come to terms with it._

Bodie had found his own words, and Cowley’s, echoing in mind. They had been his constant companion, despite the beer, followed by Scotch. He’d had only a taste of the whisky before he’d set it aside. Cowley had said nothing about it.

Bodie closed his eyes for a moment, then looked again at the entrance to Doyle’s flat. He should go home. Cowley had told him to leave Doyle alone. Doyle sometimes needed to brood on his own. He had to deal with his own guilt. Bodie felt a surge of anger. Damn Coogan; damn them all for what they’d done to Doyle.

Not the least, what he himself had done. He hadn’t been able to leave Doyle on his own after the suspension. Cowley had asked him to find Parker, and he had chosen to involve Doyle. He’d thought it would help—get Doyle back to thinking like a copper. It was always better to be doing than…brooding. He’d had good intentions. But they hadn’t been his only motivation, and like a fool, he’d shown his hand to Doyle. He was very much afraid he’d shown more than his bloody hand.

The ‘Look out for Number One’ credo had disappeared the day he met Ray Doyle. Bodie thought about it. Maybe not the day he’d met Ray, but it was soon after. Sometime after. Bugger it, all he knew was that he’d do whatever it took to protect Doyle. And he wanted him, oh Christ, he wanted him.

 _You know what they made of me, don't you? Do you know what they've made of us?_

He knew what Doyle feared, even if he didn’t fully understand it. Doyle had reacted as he’d been trained to react. If you were hit, you hit back. What did the circumstances matter? But they mattered to Doyle. And that ‘us’ of his… Was that what they’d made of CI5? Or did Doyle think Bodie was like him? Doyle was under no illusions when it came to Bodie, he was certain of it. And yet, there was always that instinctive ‘us’ between them. _Our pigeon_ , he’d told Doyle. _Do you know what they’ve made of us?_

Ray hadn’t pushed him away when he’d kissed him. But he’d walked away after the verdict.

Bodie opened the door to the car. He had to know. With his heart beating in his throat, he walked to Doyle’s gate and pressed the buzzer.

“About time.” Doyle’s voice came through the intercom, followed by the buzz of the door release.

Bodie walked through the garden to the open door of the flat. Doyle closed the door behind him.

“Enjoy your drinks with Cowley?” The light over the table was on, the rest of the room was in shadow.

Bodie walked towards the sofas, but stopped before he reached them. “Relieved to be having them.” He turned to look at Doyle. He had changed since the verdict. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. His feet were bare.

“Yeah.” Doyle’s gaze was intent, his expression neutral.

Bodie looked down. What the fuck were they going to do? He hadn’t felt awkward with Doyle since—

“Bodie.”

He looked up as Doyle reached him, and then he was in Doyle’s arms, and Doyle’s mouth was on his. He closed his own arms around Doyle, relief shuddering through him. He didn’t give a damn about the rest of the world as long as this was right. As long as Doyle was with him.

Doyle broke the kiss. “Wanted to make sure it was real.”

Bodie allowed himself to touch Doyle’s hand. Doyle’s fingers curled around his own. “As real as you want it.”

Something flickered in Doyle’s eyes. “What would you have—?” Doyle cut off the rest of his words.

Bodie knew what he was remembering: _I won’t let them crucify you_. “You know what I am.”

“I know what we are. Together.”

“What they’ve made of us? What Cowley’s made of—?” Doyle’s free hand covered his mouth, and his thumb caressed Bodie’s lower lip.

“What we make of us. Our pigeon; our responsibility.” His eyes met Bodie’s. “You know what I’ll ask of you.”

Bodie swallowed. Live within others’ rules. But if they came after Doyle—

“I know what you’ll ask of me.” There was fear in Doyle’s eyes, but also certainty. “Our bargain. Our balance.” Doyle leaned forward and kissed Bodie again. “Our lives,” his whispered against Bodie’s mouth, just before he kissed him again.

Bodie’s fingers tightened around Doyle’s hand, and found an answering strength.

END

**Author's Note:**

> All written in July 2011, and posted to DW and LJ.


End file.
